Darkness Into Light
by T.L. Odell
Summary: What would have happened if Tessa hadn't died the night she was shot? An alternative to "Darkness."


Darkness Into Light Darkness Into Light   
T. L. Odell   


Richie Ryan gasped. A flaming mass of pain enveloped his body. Slowly, his eyes focused. He fought his way through the fog in his brain, trying to figure out where he was, what had happened. Gunshots. He remembered gunshots, a searing pain in his chest, then darkness, then nothing. 

He shivered in the cool night air. He tried to sit up, but something pinned him down. He forced air in and out of his lungs with deep, labored breaths as he took in his surroundings. Light from a distant street lamp filtered through the bushes surrounding him. Bushes. How did he get into a hedge? He wriggled free of the encumbering branches and pushed himself up on his elbows. Slowly, the memories returned. 

Tessa. Mac. Some punk kid with a gun. But they had been in the street. Why was he lying in a hedgerow? Slowly, carefully, he rose to a sitting position, then to his knees. A wave of dizziness and nausea rolled over him; he lowered his head until it passed. Finally on his feet, he discovered he was not far from where the shooting had taken place. Shooting! He looked at his chest. He could make out some stains on his shirt; he felt the hole in the fabric, and the rough crust of what he assumed was dried blood. He gingerly reached under his shirt and fingered his chest. Sticky, but no pain. He moved to a place where the street light's glow offered more illumination. There was no wound. 

He had to be dreaming. He'd wake up in his own bed. He touched his chest again as his strength returned. He was Immortal. How could he be Immortal? 

He looked back to the street. Great stains of blood remained, spread over the asphalt like a giant amoeba. Litter fluttered in the breeze. He absently picked up one of the pieces of paper. Even though they were torn, Richie could tell they were wrappers from medical equipment—maybe syringes, or I.V. needles, or tubes or something. 

Oh my God. Tessa! Where was Tessa? 

He shook his head to clear it. Of course. They took her to the hospital. He refused to consider the word "morgue." He saw Mac's T-bird, patted his pocket and felt the keys. He rushed to the car and started driving, trying to sort out the frantic thoughts that raced through his brain. 

Mac wouldn't have left him for dead. No way. He had to have known he would be Immortal. But how? He never said anything about knowing someone was Immortal before they died. 

Mac wouldn't just dump you in the bushes to die. He had to be with Tessa. 

That had to be it. 

Why didn't that take away the feeling of betrayal? "For once in your life, slow down and think," he said aloud. "Driving all over the city isn't going to help anyone. Go back to the apartment and regroup." The sound of his own voice calmed him. 

Now that he had a sense of purpose, Richie's pounding heart slowed. The nighttime streets were almost deserted; he was back at the apartment in twenty minutes. He grabbed the cordless phone and began calling the local hospitals while he washed the bloodstains from his chest and changed into clean clothes. He located Tessa on the third try and was back in the T-bird almost immediately. 

Arriving at the hospital's emergency parking lot, his heart sank when he saw how full it was, even after midnight. He had to tell himself to relax. He reminded himself that hospitals don't work like the lines at the grocery store check-out. They take cases on a priority basis. 

He raced across the lot and found the emergency entrance. As he stepped past the automatic glass double doors, he heard the sounds of crying children, of doctors being paged on the loudspeaker; he smelled the all pervasive hospital odor of disinfectant with undertones of vomit and blood. Yet through all that, Richie felt his entire being resonate. It felt like someone had found a way to make his spinal cord vibrate up through his brain. His head throbbed, and for a moment he thought he would throw up. Duncan's familiar frame caught the corner of his eye, and he realized he must be feeling what Duncan had told him about, how Immortals recognized each other. How did they stand it? He doubled over and someone in hospital garb came to ask if he was all right. 

He straightened and waved her away. "I'm OK. Just looking for a friend. There he is. Thanks." Duncan stood in a corridor near the waiting area, clutching a large plastic bag to his chest, speaking to a man scribbling things in a small notepad. Richie strode over to the two men. 

"I told you, detective, there was nobody there--" Duncan was saying. 

"I know, I know," said the cop. "You were appraising some antiques with Mr. Wolf, the lady was waiting in the car, you thought you heard shots, you ran out. That's all you remember." 

"I saw her, called 911 and waited for the paramedics. I came straight here in the ambulance." 

Richie heard the Highlander's voice begin to crack. He stepped closer and touched Duncan's arm. "Sir, can't you see this man is in no condition to be hounded?" Richie started walking to draw the detective away from Duncan. "Why don't you leave us alone now, okay? This isn't a good time for either of us. We'll call if we remember anything." 

The detective took Richie's name and phone number. "All right, kid. I'll be in touch. Hope your friend is all right." 

Richie turned back toward Duncan who was now listening to a woman in blood-stained scrubs. Richie moved closer, close enough to make out the doctor's words. 

"She's lost a lot of blood and she arrested twice on the way here. Right now, I'd have to say she owes her life to some quick thinking and strong work by the paramedics. It's thanks to them your wife has any chance at all right now. She was lucky; another few millimeters lower and the bullet would have penetrated her heart. As it is, it damaged one of her pulmonary arteries—those are the main vessels that carry blood from the heart to the lungs to get oxygen. She's going up to surgery now—we have to repair the artery. I won't lie to you; it's a delicate and difficult surgery. I can't make any promises." 

"She's alive?" Mac's voice was a hoarse whisper. 

"At the moment," the doctor replied. 

Mac's knees buckled. Richie stepped forward and helped the doctor support the tall Scot. "Here, Mac. Let's get you to a chair." 

"She's alive," he said again after Richie guided him back into one of the cold plastic waiting room chairs. Richie watched the color return to Duncan's face. 

"Is he a friend of yours?" asked the doctor. 

"Yes. And so's Tessa, the woman he brought in. I'm Richie. Richie Ryan." 

"I'm Dr. Anne Lindsey, Richie. Right now your friend is running on caffeine and adrenaline. What he needs is something to eat, or at least something sweet to drink. I'd also recommend a change of clothes, and a few hours of sleep. We have rooms available for situations like this. Why don't you see Jennifer, the patient advocate, at reception, and she can let you know what our family rooms are like and set things up. He won't be allowed to see his wife until she's out of surgery." 

Richie didn't correct the doctor; it was probably easier for Duncan to stay with Tessa if they thought he was her husband. "You can count on it, Dr. Lindsey." He turned to his friend. "You heard the doctor, Mac. Time to get some rest." 

Duncan said nothing. He just continued to stare into space, murmuring, "She's alive." 

Richie noted Duncan's bloodstained sweater and his red-rimmed eyes. His dark hair, free of its clasp, fell about his face in unruly tangles as if he'd been pulling on it. Whatever had held him together for the last few hours had deserted him. "Mac. Get up. Let's go." Richie extended his hand. He tried to take the bag from Duncan; the Scot tightened his grip. Richie looked more closely at the bag and saw it contained Tessa's bloody clothing and other personal effects. 

Duncan blinked and shook his head, and his eyes regained some of their focus. "I should be here." 

"You will be here, Mac. But let's follow the doctor's orders first, okay?" He found Jennifer and got directions to the room Dr. Lindsey had mentioned. 

"Here we are. Family Room Two." Richie opened the door. Inside he saw two oversized brown vinyl chairs that looked like they might recline into something approaching beds. A wall mounted television set, a small green sofa and a few old magazines atop a coffee table completed the décor. The yellow-green paint coating the walls turned Richie's stomach. A miniscule closet revealed a couple of thin blankets, airline-sized pillows and toilet paper for the restrooms across the hall. 

Richie directed Duncan to the couch. He pulled the green and brown plaid curtain on the window aside and looked out at a brick wall. He let it fall back. "They've got some great doctors here, Mac. Tessa will be fine." 

Richie looked down at Duncan, waiting for him to take charge, to be the leader Richie needed right now. To explain the incessant buzzing in his head. Duncan stared straight ahead and remained silent, still clasping the bag of Tessa's things. 

Richie shook off his fear. All right. You can do this. Mac and Tessa have been there for you. They're probably the only real family you've ever had or ever will. Forget about yourself for a while. Right now, just take care of Mac. 

"Mac, I'm going to get you something to eat. I'll be back in a minute." 

Richie studied the offerings of the vending machine in the hall. He returned with two colas and two chocolate bars. Duncan hadn't moved. He popped the lid of the soda and offered it to Duncan. "Here, Mac. Drink this. It should help. I'll just put Tessa's things right here on the table. See. They're right here." Duncan relinquished his hold on the bag and took a sip of his drink. 

"How about a candy bar?" Richie continued. "Chocolate's supposed to help, right? It'll give you some energy." 

"I'm … not sure …." 

"The doctor said you needed something. She said something sweet would help. Come on, Mac. Just a little?" 

Duncan took two bites of the candy bar before lowering his head into his hands. Richie saw the shaking of his shoulders, heard the sobs begin. He didn't think he'd ever seen Duncan cry before. A few tears, maybe, but not this convulsive weeping. 

Richie wanted to shout, to get Duncan to tell him Tessa would be fine. To tell him he would be fine, too. That nobody would be waiting to take his head. 

What a selfish bastard he was. Richie adjusted the hospital chair as far as it would recline "Come on, Mac. Try to get some sleep." 

Richie watched as Duncan collapsed into the poor excuse for a bed. Richie worked a tiny pillow behind Duncan's head, and covered him with a blanket. The sobbing stopped, and the Highlander finally slept. 

Richie made a quick trip to the apartment and gathered some clean clothes, towels and toiletries. He picked up the telephone. 

"Angie? Sorry to wake you. It's Richie. Just listen, okay? I need you to do me a big favor. Can you get someone to pick up my bike? I know Eric won't have any trouble starting it without keys. No cops, you know? Just have him leave it at his place or your place. I'll call in a day or two and fill you in." He gave her the address and hung up before she could ask him any questions. 

Back at the hospital, he settled down on the other recliner, caught in that nebulous region between sleep and wakefulness, trying to sort out the thoughts and emotions swirling through his mind. 

I'm Immortal. Mac wants me out of his life now. I'm in the way. He resents me because I'm alive and Tessa's dying. Tessa has to live. Mac loves Tessa. I love Tessa. I'm going to have to kill people. People will want to kill me. I don't know how to use a sword. 

The sound of someone stirring broke through to Richie's consciousness. Duncan was up, pacing the small room. Richie looked at his watch. It was not quite five a.m. They'd managed a few hours sleep, anyway. Duncan headed for the door. 

"Where are you going?" 

"Bathroom." 

"Wait – as long as you're going, here's a clean shirt, and a toothbrush and stuff. Maybe you should try to clean up." 

Duncan accepted the bag from Richie and walked out the door. 

"Come right back here when you're finished, okay?" Richie hoped Duncan had heard him. 

Duncan returned about fifteen minutes later, looking cleaner, but only slightly less haggard. He flopped down on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front on him. 

Richie handed Duncan the television remote. "Here. Maybe you can find something to distract you, to pass the time." 

After ten minutes of watching Duncan scroll through the channels, Richie gave up. 

"What about some breakfast? The cafeteria doesn't open until seven, but there are the vending machines." 

"Not hungry." 

"The other option is the surgical waiting room. Do you want to try that for a while?" 

The Scot shrugged his shoulders. 

The surgical waiting room proved to be slightly more hospitable than the stark one of the emergency room. There they found chairs with blue padded seats, tables, a coffee maker with the usual overcooked coffee, a small private restroom and magazines only two or three years old. A television mounted on the wall in a corner was tuned to the morning news. Nobody was watching. Grace, the gray-haired volunteer at the desk, took their names and promised to call them as soon as Tessa was permitted visitors. 

Richie looked around. At 5:45 A.M., the room was almost empty. A middle-aged woman sat knitting, a plastic bag of neatly folded clothing tucked beneath her chair. Whoever she was waiting for had arrived prepared for a scheduled procedure. Nobody else in the room had the exhausted look of someone who had been there all night waiting to see if a loved one would survive. Somehow, he felt better that he and Duncan had cleaned up, that they fit in. 

After what seemed like hours, Dr. Lindsey appeared at the door and spoke with Grace. She pointed at Richie and Duncan. Duncan bolted to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans. 

"Good morning, Mr. MacLeod," Dr. Lindsey said. "Did you manage to get some rest?" 

He nodded. "Some." 

"We've just finished the surgery and Ms. Noel is in ICU. There's a good team of doctors there who will be overseeing her care. Once she's situated, they'll call and let you see her. I expect it will be about an hour." 

"Thank you, doctor," Richie said. "We'll be here." 

An hour passed. More people trickled in. Two ladies, probably mother and daughter, sat in church clothes, handbags poised on their laps. How comfortable could they be in those outfits? Richie guessed they didn't plan to be there long. An elderly couple sat side by side, holding hands. Were they waiting for a friend, or perhaps a child or grandchild? 

Duncan stared at Grace, at the phone on her desk, at the door. Exhaustion overtook Richie, and he found himself dozing, but never for more than a few moments at a time. Duncan picked up magazines, fanned their pages, then set them down. He walked to the coffee pot, poured a cup of coffee and ignored that as well. 

"Mr. MacLeod?" called Grace. 

Duncan jumped up. "Tessa. Can I see her?" 

"I'm sorry, sir. Not just yet. They've had to take her back to surgery. Someone will be down to explain everything." 

Richie watched as his friend returned to his chair and sat, head down, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. 

The waiting room had nearly filled. Most people brought books to read. Many came in groups; families staying together through a crisis. Richie wondered if Duncan even knew he was here, if he even cared. They sat across from each other, in a section away from the distraction of the television. 

Finally, Dr. Lindsey returned and approached the men. Both were on their feet as soon as she passed Grace's desk. 

"Let's sit down," she said. 

Duncan's faced paled. "What is it?" 

"Miss Noel suffered some unforeseen complications. Some of the repair sites are leaking, and we have to go back in and fix them. It will be several hours yet. Why don't you go down to the cafeteria and have some breakfast? We'll notify Grace here as soon as you can see your wife." 

"But—but she's going to be all right. Isn't she going to be all right?" Richie blurted out. 

The doctor looked at Richie. "We're doing everything we can. I have to be honest. Right now, we're guardedly optimistic." 

Richie watched Duncan fight for control. "Thank you, doctor," he heard him say. Richie felt his own control slipping as well. 

Guardedly optimistic. What kind of doctor crap talk is that? He reached to put a hand on Duncan's shoulder; Duncan recoiled from his touch. 

Richie stepped back as though he had been slapped. He fought against the tightening in his throat, willed away the tears that threatened to spill down his face. Was he crying for Tessa or for himself? He didn't know or care. He fled to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He looked almost as bad as Duncan. He called on the years of hiding his emotions as he was moved from one foster home to another. Richie washed his face with cold water. He set his expression to what he hoped was a look of optimism and went back to Duncan. 

"She's a fighter, Mac. She'll get through this. Let's get out of here for a little while. How about something from the cafeteria?" 

"I'm not hungry." 

"You haven't eaten anything but half a candy bar. Come on. You don't want to pass out before you can see Tessa, do you?" Richie tried his hardest to coerce and cajole Duncan out of his state of withdrawal. "Or just keep me company. I could use a change of scenery if nothing else." He tugged on Duncan's arm and half dragged him out of the room. 

"Wait," Duncan said. "Grace…" 

"I've got you in the cafeteria. We'll find you." 

Richie returned her smile. "Thanks." 

The aroma of food from the cafeteria hit Richie while they were still half a corridor away. Aside from the candy bar, he hadn't eaten anything since lunch the day before. He grabbed a tray from the stack and filled it with fruit, oatmeal, eggs and muffins. He poured a glass of orange juice from the dispenser and sent Duncan to get the silverware. He paid for the food and found a quiet table by a window overlooking a landscaped garden. 

"Here, Mac. I got some oatmeal for you. Good Scottish breakfast food. Probably not as good as your mother made, but it'll keep you going." 

Richie looked at Duncan, willing him to speak. Mac, I'm here. Can't you just look at me? Say my name just once. Anything. I'd trade places with Tessa in a heartbeat if I could. 

Duncan sat down in front of the bowl of oatmeal. He sprinkled some brown sugar over it, stirred in some raisins and topped it with cream. Then he stared at it. 

"Eat it, Mac. And drink your orange juice. We're not going to leave here until you finish your breakfast." Richie didn't think a threat would work, but he didn't know what else to try. He was surprised to see the Scot pick up the glass and drink his juice, then start to eat the oatmeal. Richie turned his attention to his own breakfast. 

Grace smiled and made a note on her chart when they returned to the waiting room. The slight shake of her head told Richie that there was no more news of Tessa. Richie tried once again to doze; Duncan resumed his pacing, magazine non-reading and coffee pouring ritual. An occasional trip to the bathroom was the only variation. 

Doctors came and went, calling people into the hall, giving them news. Most of them looked relieved. Other times, Grace would answer the phone, check her chart, and call a name and a room number. Someone would rise and leave the room. After one such call, the knitter jumped up and repeated the number. "Room four twenty-eight?" 

"Yes," Grace replied. "Take the elevator to your left up to the fourth floor. The nurses will direct you from there." 

The knitter gathered up her belongings and stopped in front of Duncan before she left. "My prayers are with you, son." 

Duncan raised his eyes. "Thank you." 

At one o'clock, Dr. Lindsey returned. "Don't sit down," Richie muttered under his breath. "Please, don't sit down." 

She motioned them to the hall. Richie breathed a sigh of relief. That had to be a good sign. "How is she?" 

"When can we see her?" asked Duncan. 

"Very soon. She's going to be in Intensive Care for quite a while. She's heavily sedated, but you can see her for a few minutes. She gestured toward another doctor who had joined them. This is Dr. Weinberg. He's the attending physician in the ICU; he'll be taking over Tessa's case while she's there. I'll leave you with him now. She's in excellent hands." 

"Thanks, Dr. Lindsey," Richie said. He nodded to Dr. Weinberg, a somber middle-aged man dressed in the standard white hospital coat, stethoscope draped into the breast pocket. 

"Yes, thanks," echoed Duncan as Dr. Lindsey walked away. 

Dr. Weinberg pressed the elevator call button. In the elevator, he explained Tessa's condition. She would have to remain in the ICU until they were sure she was stable and able to breathe on her own. Then she could be moved to a regular room until she was strong enough to go home. 

"I just want you to understand what you're going to see. We have to keep her very heavily sedated and on a ventilator. We're giving her antibiotics to ward off infection and we're supporting her blood pressure with medication to help her heart work better. We've given her twelve units of blood." He walked with them past the central station where nurses could monitor all the patients, down the aisle of curtained glass-walled cubicles until he came to the third one. He pulled the curtain back. "Just a few minutes," he said. "I'll be in the hall." 

Richie hesitated, then followed Duncan into the cubicle. Tessa lay there, connected to machines and tubes, things that beeped, hissed, blipped and dripped. She was barely visible against the stark white sheets. Richie stood against the curtain watching Tessa's chest rise and fall as a machine breathed for her, and tried not to cry. Duncan went to her side and gingerly touched her fingers, careful not to touch any of the tubing. "I'm here, Tess," he whispered. "I'll always be here." 

Richie watched Duncan. The Scot was totally immersed in Tessa. For now, his universe had room for nothing else. 

The doctor returned moments later. "I think that's long enough for now. She needs rest. You can spend a little more time with her later this afternoon. Talk to her. It's good for her to hear your voice, even though she can't respond. The nurses at the reception desk outside will explain the visiting policies to you." 

"Thank you, doctor. Thank you," Duncan said. 

Dr. Weinberg escorted the men out of the room and walked toward the nurses' station. Duncan leaned against the wall. Richie watched him; he was getting very pale. "Mac. Over here. Sit down." Richie led him to a bench by the elevator. "Put your head down if you feel faint." 

Richie was frightened. The Duncan MacLeod he knew had endured war, plague, and goodness knows what else. He had lost many people near and dear to him. He could come back from slicing off someone's head and eat a hearty dinner. Yet just looking at Tessa in that hospital bed had reduced him to jelly. How would he defend himself if he were challenged? Now Richie was worrying about saving two heads. 

"Mac, you wait here for a minute. I'm just going over to ask the nurses something. I'll be right back. Okay?" 

Duncan nodded, lowering his head to his knees. 

"Are you all right?" Richie asked when he returned moments later. Richie had picked up on the waxing and waning of Duncan's presence as he walked back and forth down the corridor. Surely Duncan would have felt him as well. But he hadn't shown any sign of recognition. 

Richie wondered what would happen if it had been another Immortal. Would Duncan even have noticed? Did Immortals feel different? 

Duncan nodded. "Sorry. I just couldn't …" 

"No problem. Look, come with me. We're going downstairs until four. That's the next time they'll let you in to see her." Richie reached out his hand. Duncan accepted it and pulled himself up. Richie led the way to the elevator and pressed "two." 

"We're going to wait in the chapel. The nurses will tell Grace where we are. Mac, I know you're not ready to deal with anything but Tessa. I have no idea what to do if one of your big bad friends comes calling, so I plan to stick pretty close to holy ground. I think you might want to do the same." 

They entered the small chapel with its symbols of many faiths. In its dimly lit interior, Richie felt a peacefulness unlike anything he'd ever noticed in church before. Holy ground seemed to have a different feel. He started to ask Duncan about it, but the man was already seated on one of the benches, his head bowed. 

Richie sighed and took a seat at the back of the room. 

***   
Duncan was at Tessa's side promptly at four. "Good afternoon, sweetheart. Did you miss me?" He sat down in one of the red vinyl padded chairs at her bedside. 

Richie sat in the second chair, closer to the foot of the bed. He concentrated on counting the times the ventilator forced the air in and out of Tessa's lungs. Twelve times each minute. His own breathing soon matched hers. 

"Do you remember the first time I saw you?" Richie heard Duncan say. "I jumped into that tour boat, and there was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I knew right then that we were destined to be together. 

"And remember how you didn't want to see me at first? You thought I was much too reckless and too old for you. How I bribed you with chocolate until you agreed to go out with me?" 

Duncan's voice grew husky; Richie saw the tears glistening in his eyes. He slipped quietly out of the room and went back to the chapel. 

Four days later, Tessa came off the respirator. Richie liked that she could speak a little, even if she sounded like a frog. The doctors thought she'd be out of ICU in another day or two. 

"Mac, take a break. You've been sitting there forever," Richie said. 

"I need to be here whenever she wakes up." 

"I've watched you two when she wakes up. She says, 'Mac' or 'Duncan.' You say, 'I'm here, Tess.'" Then she falls back to sleep again. I'll be happy to sit in for you while you use the john, for God's sake. Your squirming is driving me nuts." 

"I'm fine." 

"You sure?" 

Duncan glanced at his watch, glared at Richie, then looked at Tessa. She was sleeping peacefully. He dashed out of the room. Richie sat down and touched Tessa's hand. "You won't be alone, Tess. One of us will always be here for you." Her eyelids flickered but didn't open. "Get well. I need you. Mac needs you. I need Mac. I can't blame him, but I really have to get a handle on this Immortality thing. I'm scared, Tess." 

Duncan came back into the room. "Anything?" 

"Nothing. She's still sleeping." 

Tessa's eyes opened. She looked at the two men standing over her. "Mac," she said. 

"I'm here." 

"Richie?" she added. 

"I'm here, too, Tess." 

A smile played around her mouth, and then she was asleep once again. 

Tessa woke up for real on the sixth day. "Mac?" she said. 

"I'm here, Tess." 

"What happened? Where am I?" she croaked. 

"Oh my God, Tessa. You're awake. You're really awake." 

"Of course I'm awake. What is all this?" She fingered her bandages, touched her I.V. tubing. "Mac, are you crying?" 

Duncan wiped his eyes. "Not any more. You're in the hospital. Intensive Care. Do you remember anything?" 

Tessa was quiet for a moment. "I was shot! So was Richie. Richie! How is Richie?" 

"I'm right here, Tessa. I'm just fine." 

"But I saw him shoot you. You were—" She stopped. She stared at Richie, then at Duncan. "He's Immortal, isn't he?" 

Both men nodded. Tessa didn't say anything more after that. Richie couldn't blame her. There she was, lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to half a dozen machines. She had to be in terrible pain whenever the drugs wore off. And here he was, standing above her, just as healthy as he'd been before the shooting. What he saw in Tessa's eyes cut him far worse than Duncan's katana ever could. 

He wondered if she'd ever feel the same way about him again. Why isn't she the Immortal? Why me? 

"Look," Richie said. "You two have lots to talk about. I'll leave you alone for a while." His throat constricted. "Bye, Tessa," he added quickly. "It's really good to see you awake." And then he ran out of the room. In the elevator, something compelled him to push the button for the second floor. He found himself in the chapel, letting its feeling of peace push away some of his fear and frustration. 

"Can I help you in some way, son? You look troubled," he heard a quiet voice ask. 

Richie looked up and saw a short, bespectacled man with wavy white hair and a beard that made Richie think of Santa Claus in black. "I'm Charles Gardner, the hospital chaplain," the man said. 

Richie shook his head, not trusting his voice. Troubled? Try basket case. 

"The Lord rarely gives us burdens we cannot handle," the chaplain went on. He continued speaking softly, offering reassurances. The words didn't penetrate, but their tone gave comfort. "If you feel the need to talk, I'm either in here or in my office across the hall." 

"Thanks. I do feel better, really." He certainly did need to talk, but he hadn't the slightest idea who he could talk to. 

Excuse me, Father, but I woke up from the dead a few days ago, and the only person I know who could help me isn't talking to me and probably doesn't ever want to see me again. Oh yes, and then there's the lady who's fighting for her life upstairs—it's my fault that she got shot, and she probably hates me now, too. 

He didn't think that would work. 

He chaplain put his hand on Richie's shoulder. "God bless, my son. I'll leave you to your prayers." 

"Prayers," Richie said after the chaplain left. "Why not give it a shot?" He bowed his head and tried to remember something from the days when he'd been taken to church every Sunday. God wouldn't mind if he couldn't say all the right words. It was the thought that counted, right? 

Richie stayed in the chapel until visiting hours for the ICU were ending. He met Duncan at Tessa's bedside. "How's she doing?" 

"The same." 

"It's only been a few days. She'll get better." He added, almost inaudibly, "She has to." 

*** 

Richie found some unidentified leftover casserole in the freezer for dinner. Duncan toyed with his portion; the food was spread over the plate when he took it to the kitchen, but there was almost as much on it as when he started. 

"Mac, you need to eat. How about some soup? Toast? Anything?" 

"Sorry. I'm not very hungry." Duncan got up and poured himself a Scotch. He swallowed it and poured a second. 

Richie opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Let him get drunk. Maybe it would help him open up. Yell at him, call him names, tell him he didn't deserve to be alive. Anything. Duncan merely took his drink to the couch. 

"I've been thinking," Richie said. "About the shop and all. You've got the ads in the paper for the re-opening next week. Maybe I should drop you off at the hospital in the mornings and then make sure everything's ready to open the shop. Maybe half days? What do you think?" 

"If you want." 

Richie drove Duncan to the hospital the next morning. He thought the Highlander would do all right once he was with Tessa. 

Duncan stepped out of the car. Richie looked at the blank expression on his friend's face, at the way he walked, head down, shoulders slumped. "Wait a minute, Mac!" I'll walk up with you." 

Duncan seemed to be on automatic pilot as he navigated the hospital corridors. Tessa was still asleep as he took his usual position by her side. Richie repeated what he had told Duncan the night before. "Remember, Mac. When you're not allowed to be with her, go to the chapel. Okay? I'll be back at lunchtime." 

Duncan nodded. He stroked Tessa's hair. "I'm here, Tessa. I'm back. Did you miss me?" 

Richie went back and opened the shop. He spent the morning trying not to be afraid. He found Duncan's gun and kept it in the drawer by the register. If an Immortal came in, he'd shoot first and ask questions later. He'd tie him up until Duncan got back to tell him what to do. It wasn't like he was really going to kill anyone. 

A little after noon, he closed the shop and went back to the hospital. He wasn't sure who he was more worried about, Duncan or Tessa. Tessa might be in critical condition, but she had a team of doctors and nurses monitoring her. Duncan was alone. 

No, not completely alone. He's got me. I may not be much, but until he snaps out of this and sends me away, I'm going to be here. 

He found Duncan sitting just where he had left him. Tessa stirred restlessly. Her hair looked damp and matted; a sheen of sweat glistened on her face. "Mac? I'm back. Any change?" 

"Not really. She seems a little agitated. The nurses are keeping an eye on her." 

"Are you ready for some lunch? Morning hours are just about over." 

"A few more minutes." 

Tessa's arms began a rhythmic jerking and releasing, jerking and releasing. Duncan leapt to his feet, his eyes open wide, and reached for the call button. 

The resident on duty and a nurse arrived at Tessa's side before Duncan's finger touched the button. Richie heard the doctor order the nurse to do something "I.V. push." She busied herself with the tubes and needles; another nurse paged Dr. Weinberg, stat. Richie didn't understand much about the hospital, but he knew "stat" was not a good thing. 

The nurses motioned the men toward the door. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait outside. The doctor needs room to work." 

"Why? What's happening?" Duncan almost shouted, his expression frantic. 

"Sir, she's having a seizure and her blood pressure is dropping. Please, wait outside. We'll call you as soon as she's stabilized." 

"So much for the power of prayer," mumbled Richie. He pulled Duncan out of the way and down the hall to the ICU waiting room. Richie started timing how long Duncan could remain sitting down. In twenty minutes, his record was forty-five seconds. Five trips to the reception desk had provided no more information than, "we'll let you know as soon as we know something ourselves." Give them credit, they were patient and sympathetic. 

After a sixth unproductive trip, Duncan sat down, crossed his arms on his knees and lowered his head. Richie tentatively put his hands on Duncan's shoulders. This time his touch was accepted. He didn't speak, just slowly massaged the Highlander's taut muscles. He could feel some of the tension leaving the Scot's shoulders. 

Duncan was mumbling something Richie couldn't understand; from the cadence, he knew it wasn't English. Probably Gaelic. Maybe remembering things from when he was a kid. Or maybe he was praying and he knew the right words. 

Neither man was aware of Dr. Weinberg's approach. "Mr. MacLeod?" 

Duncan raised his head. Richie saw the despair on the Highlander's face; he felt his own stomach clench. Duncan just sat there, staring up at the doctor. 

"We're pretty sure that Miss Noel had a pulmonary embolism, probably from a blood clot that broke off from the repair site. We gave her ativan to break the seizure. She's on anticoagulants to stabilize the clot and help the blood flow. She's heavily sedated." 

Richie listened to the doctor but kept his eyes on Duncan. The Scot was blinking, nodding mechanically. His mouth moved, but he didn't seem able to respond to the doctor. 

"You can sit with her for a while. Would you like me to prescribe something for you, Mr. MacLeod?" Dr. Weinberg asked. "You look like you need to sleep." 

Duncan shook his head, but Richie spoke up. "I think that might be a good idea, doctor. At least he'll have them if he changes his mind." 

The doctor pulled a tablet from his coat pocket and scribbled something on it. "You can take this downstairs to the hospital pharmacy." 

"Thanks." Richie put the prescription in his pocket. "I'll do that." 

Duncan resumed his place at Tessa's beside. "I'll just go down and get this prescription filled," said Richie. "I'll be back in a bit." 

Visiting hours over, the men returned to the apartment. Duncan got out of the car and went straight to the liquor cabinet. Richie watched him down three glasses of Scotch. Richie set the bottle of pills on the kitchen counter. "Guess these won't be too smart right about now. Maybe later. You're probably not hungry, either." 

Richie went to his room and showered. When he returned, Duncan was sitting on the couch, holding the bottle of pills. "Oh God. What did you do?" Richie pried the bottle from Duncan's hand. It was empty. So was the bottle of Scotch. "Geez. No food, Scotch and sleeping pills. Damn! Shit! Okay, let's get you to bed." 

Richie worked his way under Duncan's shoulders and walked him to the bedroom. He managed to maneuver him onto the bed before Duncan passed out. Richie pulled off the older man's shoes and covered him with a blanket. He wondered if the Scot had taken enough pills and whisky to kill him. Or would he just wake up with a horrendous hangover? Did Immortals get hangovers? Or if he died in his sleep, would he wake up feeling fine? 

"Damn it, Mac!" he shouted. "I don't know anything about this Immortality. Help me!" Duncan's snoring was the only response. The tears started streaming down Richie's face. He didn't care; he went to his room and flung himself down on his pillow. Soon he was sobbing uncontrollably. He cried until he, too, fell asleep. 

The ringing of the telephone brought Richie to consciousness the next morning. He fumbled for the handset by his bed. "Hello," he said, his voice thick with sleep. He stumbled out of bed looking for Duncan. The Highlander was still asleep, his breathing slow and rhythmic. "I'm sorry, Mr. MacLeod is still asleep. You can give me the information," he said to the nurse on the phone. "She did? She is? That's great! Thank you." 

He hung up the phone and gently shook Duncan's shoulder. "Mac? Are you awake? The hospital called." Duncan groaned and turned over, but didn't open his eyes. "I guess you need to sleep it off a little longer. That's fine; we can't see Tessa until afternoon hours anyway. But she had a good night; they didn't have to put her back on that breathing tube thing. You just sleep. I'll wake you when it's time to go." He jotted a note giving Duncan the news and propped it in front of the clock on Duncan's nightstand. 

Richie worked in the shop until eleven. The buzzing in his head grew stronger and he stepped closer to the gun in the drawer. He looked up; Duncan stood at the rear entrance, freshly shaven and dressed in slacks and a turtleneck. "Hi, Mac. You got my note?" 

"Yes, thanks." 

"Do you want me to fix you breakfast? We don't need to leave until twelve-thirty." 

"Thanks, Richie. I've already eaten. Looks like you're doing a fine job here." 

"Thanks." His spirits lifted when he heard Duncan speak his name. 

"I called the hospital," Duncan said. "Dr. Weinberg thinks Tessa should be out of the ICU in a couple of days. She'll need lots of rest, and will probably be in the hospital at least another three weeks, but he thinks she'll be all right." 

"That's great." Richie waited for Duncan to say something about the shooting, how it wouldn't have happened if he'd listened and not gone to the house after Duncan. Or something about his being Immortal now. But Duncan turned and went back into the apartment. 

Richie stared after the Scot. Well, 'Richie' is a start. For now, he can only talk if it's about Tessa. Eventually he'll remember me. 

At the hospital that afternoon, Tessa acknowledged the presence of both her visitors, but was still asleep most of the time. Richie tried to read the expression in her face when she looked at him. Did she hate him, resent him, just wish he was out of sight? He didn't know what was worse, the unmitigated terror he felt when he was alone, or the fear of being rejected by Tessa and Duncan. 

Three days later, Tessa was moved to her own room. Duncan's attitude improved markedly. He read aloud to Tessa. Richie sat and enjoyed listening to the Scot reciting passages from "The Taming of the Shrew." Richie had never liked being forced to read Shakespeare, but somehow, listening to the words instead of reading them made all the difference in the world. He could almost see the action unfolding in front of him. He was amazed at how well Duncan could do the female parts. He pictured Duncan as the shrewish Kate and had to stifle a laugh. 

The next day, Richie again suggested that he work in the shop while Duncan stayed with Tessa. "She's barely awake enough to know I'm there, Mac. I know you like to be alone with her; I'm spending more time in the chapel than with her. I can do more good here. I can drive you to the hospital and pick you up if you want." 

"I think I'm capable of driving myself. If you think that's a good idea, then it's fine with me." 

For the next week, Richie busied himself in the shop during the day. He fielded telephone calls from Tessa's friends, and did his best to deal with the follow up calls from reporters and the police, who had no leads on the shooter. Richie didn't have the strength to answer any more of their questions. They had found Pallin Wolf's body, but apparently Duncan was no longer a suspect. They seemed to believe that whoever shot Tessa was trying to rob Wolf and killed him. Richie was happy to let them think so. 

Duncan came home emotionally drained. He'd shower and eat whatever Richie had had delivered, which was either spaghetti, pizza, or Chinese. He never said a word about the night of the shooting. Richie couldn't figure out a way to bring it up. All Duncan would talk about was how Tessa was doing. He brought books to read to her, he stopped at the florist on the way to the hospital every morning, he borrowed Richie's portable CD player so she could listen to music. He delivered the cards that well-wishers had sent. One night he brought home a guest. 

"Richie, this is Cecile. She's one of Tessa's school friends from France. She lives in Chicago now, but she flew in for the weekend to visit with Tessa." 

"Hello, Richie. Good to meet you." 

Richie took in her mild accent, less pronounced than Tessa's. Cecile wore her chestnut hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. Her bright smile brought a welcome change from the strained expressions Duncan had been wearing. "It's good of you to come all this way. I'm sure Tessa appreciates it." 

Duncan excused himself and went to the shop. Richie turned his attention back to Cecile. "I was just going to order some dinner. What would you like? Italian or Chinese?" 

"How about if I cook, Richie? I'm sure you could use a home cooked meal. I was a Cordon Bleu student once." 

"I don't think we have any chicken. Or cheese, either. We haven't exactly been into the domestic scene lately." 

Cecile laughed. "The Cordon Bleu is a cooking school as well as a chicken dish. How about if we go shopping and then I'll cook? You pick the menu – chicken, fish, steak, whatever. My treat. Tessa's men deserve it." 

Richie jumped at the chance to have someone with him. He was still terrified of encountering another Immortal when he was alone. "Sounds wonderful. I'll get my jacket." 

"I'll tell Duncan where we're going," Cecile said. 

They pushed their cart up and down the grocery store aisles, planning the menu. "Will you and Duncan eat salmon? You get such good seafood here in Seacouver." 

"Sure. Sounds good." 

Cecile insisted that the fish monger let her smell the salmon before she would accept it. "And please, take the skin off." She spoke to the grocer at the produce department. "These peppers are old. And the lettuce is wilted. Don't you have anything fresher?" She called the manager when she found a carton of cream that had passed its expiration date on the shelf. "Americans let themselves be pushed around. If you're paying these prices, you should insist on top quality." 

While they stood in line at the check-out counter, Cecile turned the conversation to Tessa. "Richie, how's Tessa doing? She was sedated and asleep by the time I got to the hospital. She doesn't look very good. And Duncan looks like he hasn't slept in weeks." 

"Tessa's getting better. She really is. She had some complications, but it's just going to take a while. I think they're keeping her pretty drugged to make sure everything heals properly, and she doesn't get any more blood clots. Duncan's probably knows more of the medical stuff. I know she'll be glad to see you. She's usually better in the mornings." 

"Duncan seems to resent that I'm here. Do you know why that might be?" she asked. 

"Mac's not himself. He was pretty much a zombie until Tessa got out of the ICU. I think he thinks he has to be by her side every minute or she won't get well. I have this feeling that he uses a stopwatch on any of Tessa's friends who come to visit. I've been minding the shop so he can be there, staying out of his way." 

"Well, he'll have to share her a little for a couple of days. I can be pretty selfish, too." 

"I'd like to see him try to kick you out of her room," he mumbled. 

Over dinner, Cecile told both Immortals about her adventures with Tessa in school. Duncan seemed to be listening with rapt attention. Richie wished he'd pay half as much attention to him. But of course. Cecile was talking about Tessa. 

Duncan drove Cecile to the airport on Sunday night. When he came back to the apartment, Richie tried to fill him in on what had been happening in the shop, but the vacant expression on the Highlander's face made Richie wonder if he had heard anything he'd said. 

Look at me! he wanted to cry. Help me deal with this. Tessa's getting better. I'm still lost. 

Instead, he cleaned the kitchen, watched some television, and shut himself in his bedroom, the gun under his pillow. He started making plans to leave once Tessa was well enough and Duncan could look after the shop again. Richie didn't think he would be able to bear their resentment over his being Immortal. It should have been Tessa. She's the one who should spend the rest of eternity with Duncan, not just a few more decades. Duncan would probably help find him a teacher. If not, he could go to Paris and hide with Darius until he found one himself. 

The phone rang the next evening. "Hello," Richie said. 

"Hi. It's Tessa." 

"Tessa? What's wrong?" 

"Nothing; I'm feeling better. Duncan just left. I thought I'd catch you home. I've missed you. Friends have dropped by. I haven't seen you." 

Tessa sounded winded. Richie said, "Take it easy, Tessa." 

"Sounds worse that it is. Still have trouble getting my breath." 

"I've been working in the shop." 

"So Duncan says. I told him to stay home tomorrow morning. You could visit me. I just wanted to be sure you got the message." She stopped to catch her breath. "In case he forgets to tell you. I really want to talk to you." 

Richie battled the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. She's going to tell me it's time for me to move on. He forced himself to sound cheerful. "I'll be there Tessa. First thing tomorrow." 

Richie felt Duncan watching him that evening, but the Highlander was clearly reluctant to bring up Tessa's suggestion. Richie didn't feel like helping him broach the topic. After dinner, he flopped down on the couch and started thumbing the remote through the television channels. Duncan settled on the armchair and waited over an hour before breaking his silence. 

"Richie. How about if I take a turn in the shop tomorrow morning? You can go visit Tessa." 

Richie kept his eyes on the television. "That's okay, Mac. You can go. I don't mind working in the shop." 

"No, really. I think she should see you." 

"Gee, Mac. Are you sure? I mean, I've kind of gotten into a nice routine and all. Maybe Sunday would be better." Part of him enjoyed watching Duncan try to be nonchalant. Another part dreaded facing Tessa. 

"Richie. You go to the hospital tomorrow." 

"Are you ordering me to go?" Richie looked at Duncan. He saw the look of frustration on the Highlander's face change to one of understanding. 

"She called you, didn't she?" asked Duncan. "You've been waiting for me to say something." 

"I knew you'd get around to it eventually. I'm sorry I teased you." 

"No, I should have said something sooner. Did Tessa say what she wanted?" 

"No. Do you know?" 

"She just said she missed you, and that I should give you a break from the shop." 

"Mac, I promise that I'll come back as soon as I can." 

"I'll be fine. Stay as long as Tessa wants you there." 

Richie agreed. That night, his sleep was filled with images of Tessa screaming at him, swinging a sword, trying to take his head. Or was it Duncan? He woke up to the sound of his own voice, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded. He heard a soft tap on the door. "Richie?" Are you awake?" Duncan called softly. Richie strove to control his ragged breathing and feigned sleep. The door remained closed, and he heard the sound of quiet footsteps walking away. 

Richie approached Tessa's hospital room the next morning, his jaw clenched. This is where Tessa tells me it's time to go. Richie braced himself and walked through the doorway. Tessa sat propped up in bed, her blonde hair falling loosely around her face. Richie noted her ashen color, the dark shadows heavy under her eyes. She looked so tiny and frail. But she smiled and seemed cheerful. "You look good, Tessa." 

"I look half dead. But I feel more than half alive. That's a good start. I've missed you. Mac says you've been very busy in the shop." 

She sounded a little better than she had on the phone, but talking was still an effort. "Yeah, well it didn't seem right to keep it closed after all the announcements that it was going to re-open. As it is, we're operating on shortened hours," he said. 

"Sit." She moved over and patted the bed beside her. 

Richie reluctantly did as she asked. He didn't think he could stand it when she asked him to leave, not being this close. "Look, Tessa," he blurted out. "I've been thinking. You probably don't want me around, especially since I'm Immortal now, and I could find another place to live. I can still help in the shop until you find someone else, or until you're back on your feet again." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"How can you look at me? I mean, you got shot because I wouldn't listen to Mac, and you almost died, and now I'm Immortal and you're not and—" 

"Quiet," Tessa interrupted. She took several deep breaths. "I had a long talk with Duncan yesterday. He blames himself, not you. He thinks if he hadn't gone back into the house, nothing would have happened. We can't know that. That kid could have shot me no matter who was standing beside me." 

She stopped and pointed to the water glass at her bedside. Richie held it for her as she sipped through the straw. He poured himself a glass from the pitcher on the table. Tessa's eyes flew open wide and she grabbed his hand. "No." 

"Tess! What's wrong?" 

"They measure every drop I drink … has to match up with what comes out." 

Richie felt himself blushing; he carefully poured the water back into the pitcher. 

"What Mac did was inexcusable," Tessa went on. "But I hope you might be able to understand and forgive him." 

"Forgive him? For what? I don't know what you mean." 

"He told me that he's always known you would be Immortal. Why he chose to keep it from us is his business. He was hoping you would be older before you died … that you would have been stronger … have learned more about life. I think he secretly hoped you'd just live a normal life. I know he wanted to be there for you. If it had been under any other circumstances—" 

"Tessa, I can't blame him for leaving me. You were the one who needed the attention. He had to help you." 

"You're saying that now, Richie. But he left you alone in the bushes. You must have felt abandoned. Anyone would." 

"Tessa, ever since I woke up, I wondered if he'd known. It was great of you two to take me in after I tried to rob his store, but I always thought there might be some other reason. It makes a lot more sense now." 

"And then, he spent all his time at the hospital. He ignored you, didn't he?" 

"But, Tess … he was afraid you would die. And I was alive. I can understand that he didn't want anything to do with me." 

"Understanding doesn't always make the pain go away, though, does it?" Tessa touched Richie's hand. 

"I guess not." 

"Richie, I've always known I was mortal. Duncan told me that long ago, when he showed me he was Immortal. He knew and I knew. I think it was because I didn't die that he fell apart the way he did." 

"Tessa, you're way out of my league here. Are you saying Duncan wished you'd died? No way." 

"No, I'm saying that if I'd died, it would have been over. A clean cut. Painful, yes. He would have grieved, but he understands grief. He's seen so many loved ones die." She took Richie's hands in hers. "What he can't deal with is being helpless. I was lying there, and there was absolutely nothing he could do except be there. So he was there. All the time." Her steadfast gaze met his. "Do you understand?" 

Richie nodded. "I think so." 

"Duncan feels terrible about what he did to you. Right now, he's too embarrassed about the way he's behaved to talk to you. Sometimes, the longer you wait, the harder something gets. He knows he deserted you. He's really grateful to you for the way you stuck by him." 

"How can you know that? He hasn't said a word to me, except to talk about you." 

"I've been lying here with my eyes closed most of the time for over a week. But I haven't been asleep all that time. Duncan probably doesn't know how much I really heard. Sometimes he'd fall asleep in the chair. I'd see him having nightmares, calling your name. He loves you, Richie." 

Richie believed her. He remembered how easy it had been to reveal his fears to her as she lay in her bed. He wondered how much of his own outpourings she had heard. 

"Duncan will apologize to you," she continued. It may take him a while to come to his senses and figure out what he did and why he did it, but he will apologize. I promise you that. He may be a stubborn Scot, but he's a kind, loving stubborn Scot." She reached up and tousled Richie's hair. "I love you, Richie. You're family. If you promise to be careful, I could use a hug." 

"So could I." He leaned forward and put his arm around her shoulder. She felt so fragile. She caressed him; he buried his face in her neck and let the tears flow. "I love you, too." 

He pulled away, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry." 

"What for?" 

"For crying like that." 

Tessa took his hands in hers. "Maybe when you were a child, you were told you weren't supposed to cry. Well, whoever told you that was wrong. You have nothing to be sorry about. You can come here and cry with me any time you need to." She gave Richie an impish grin. "And I won't tell a soul." 

Richie almost laughed. He spent much of the day with Tessa, talking, watching television, watching her sleep, dozing in the chair by her bed. The knot in the pit of his stomach loosened. He fed her what the nurse called lunch. She sent him down to the cafeteria to get his own lunch, but wouldn't let him go home. 

"Duncan can fend for himself. It'll be good for him. Give him time to think." 

As the afternoon wore on, Richie asked Tessa why Duncan hadn't called. 

"I told him if he bothered me while we were having our time together, I wouldn't let him come back tomorrow either," she explained. 

"You are one mean lady." Richie grinned, then looked at her more closely. "You are also one tired lady. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll go back and relieve Duncan." 

"You're probably right. You tell Duncan that I'm fine, and that I just want to sleep. Besides, by the time he'd get here, it would be almost time to go home." 

"I'll tell him, but I'll bet you a half gallon of double chocolate fudge ice cream that he comes anyway, even for five minutes." 

"I'm not going to take that bet. Come give me a kiss." 

Richie leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Sleep well, Tess." 

Duncan didn't say anything when Richie came back to the shop; he had the spare set of car keys in his hand, and he was out the door immediately. 

Richie stared after Duncan. He wished Tessa had taken the bet. He liked double chocolate fudge as much as she did. 

After talking with Tessa, he could accept Duncan's avoiding him. He just wished it would end soon. Nothing Tessa could say would alleviate the fear he felt any time he was alone. 

Three weeks later, the doctors proclaimed Tessa well enough to go home. Richie hired a professional service to clean the apartment. Duncan filled the apartment with flowers; Richie was afraid Tessa would think it was a funeral parlor. Richie also put half a gallon of double chocolate fudge ice cream in the freezer. He didn't know if Tessa was on a restricted diet. If she was, well, then he'd eat it and get her another one when she was allowed it. 

He felt Duncan's approach almost before he heard the T-bird drive up. He had learned to relax into the strange sensation so it wasn't as debilitating as it had been at first. The door opened. Duncan entered, carrying Tessa in his arms like a new bride across the threshold. 

"I can walk, Mac. You know that the doctors insist on it." She looked around the apartment. "The place looks wonderful. But so many flowers. What did you do, buy out an entire florist?" 

"Two," mumbled Richie under his breath. He grinned at Tessa. "Welcome home, Tess. It's great to have you back." 

"Mac, put me down," she insisted. "I want to give Richie a proper hello. You can put my bag in the bedroom." 

Richie watched her walk gingerly toward him. He started toward her, but she motioned him to stay where he was. 

"I need to move around," she said. "I get stiff if I stay still too long." She gave him a gentle hug; he kissed her on both cheeks. "I'm glad to be home. It's been a long time." 

Duncan came out of the bedroom. "Okay, Tessa. Let's get you to bed. You've had enough for a while. I'm sure the drive from the hospital tired you out." He reached for her. 

"All right. I'll get into bed, but only if you let me walk there under my own power." She rolled her eyes at Richie behind Duncan's back. 

They soon settled into a comfortable routine. Duncan and Richie shared caring for the shop and Tessa, although the division of labor was far from equal. Duncan did take over the cooking duties, to the relief of all three of them. 

Four days later, Richie started rearranging a display case to make room for a shipment of porcelain. Tessa had settled down for her afternoon nap; Duncan was undoubtedly with her. Richie suddenly became aware that the background hum in his head had been overshadowed by another stronger one. His mouth dried; his palms sweated; his heart throbbed so loudly he could barely hear the stranger bellow, "Duncan MacLeod, I presume." 

He tried to say, "No," but he couldn't get the word out. He shook his head and sidled toward the drawer with the gun. Before he got there, an icy-cold steel blade pressed against his neck. With the adrenaline intensifying his senses, Richie took in his attacker. He was only slightly taller than Richie, but built like a refrigerator. His eyes were pale blue. Richie could almost count the gray hairs standing up amongst the dark brown of the rest of his crew cut. The cloying scent of his cologne imprinted itself on Richie's memory. So this is how it's going to end. 

"I believe you're looking for me," came the familiar baritone from behind him. "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. Leave the boy alone." 

The other Immortal lowered his sword and scowled at the Scot. 

"Go," Duncan said to Richie, nodding toward the apartment. 

Richie turned and took some reassurance from the cold look of determination in Duncan's eyes. He backed out of the shop and into Tessa's workshop. He leaned against the large sculpture Tessa had been working on before the accident and waited for the drumming in his chest to quiet. He looked frantically around for something to use as a weapon. He picked up one of her large hammers from the workbench. He had to protect Tessa if Duncan didn't survive the challenge. 

"Don't be stupid," he muttered. "How's a hammer going to protect you from a sword?" 

He no longer felt the presence of an Immortal. Straining with his senses, he crept closer to the shop door. Had they left? He felt and heard nothing. With shaking knees, he made his way to into the shop and traded the hammer for the gun. He moved as quickly as he could back to the apartment, double-checked the locks on the doors, and sat crouched in the hallway leading to Duncan and Tessa's bedroom, the gun in his lap. He waited in the semi-darkness, certain his raspy breathing would wake Tessa. 

He didn't know how long he had been sitting before he felt the resonance. He held the gun out in front of him, using his knees as a tripod to keep it from shaking. "Please, please, be Mac." He saw the unmistakable shadow coming down the hallway, heard his name spoken softly. He started to rise. His knees buckled and the room grew strangely dark and bright at the same time. He felt himself supported by a pair of strong arms, heard his name over and over. 

"Richie … Richie … It's all right. It's over. I'm sorry. I am so sorry." A damp cloth pressed against the back of his neck. The room came back into focus. He found himself sitting on the couch next to Duncan, supported by one of the Scot's strong arms. "It wasn't supposed to be this way. I am so sorry." 

Richie pulled away and looked into the Scot's eyes. They glistened with tears. Richie tried to suppress his own, but the overwhelming relief at being safe released them. Duncan gathered him into his arms and let him cry, running his fingers through Richie's hair. "Let go. You've been through enough." 

His tears spent, Richie pulled back. "I wouldn't have let him get Tessa, Mac. I promise." 

"I know you wouldn't. Let's talk about you. Richie, I don't know if you can forgive me for the way I've behaved. If it hadn't been Tessa, I would never have left you." 

"I know, Mac. I understand, really. You knew I'd be okay. It's just that I'm …" 

"Scared?" 

Richie nodded, not meeting Duncan's eyes. 

Duncan lifted Richie's chin. "Look at me. You're going to be scared again. Many times. Fear is nothing to be ashamed of. But we're going to work to give you some ways to control your fear, to make it work for you instead of against you." 

"Were you scared when you first became Immortal?" 

The Scot didn't answer for a moment. "It wasn't quite the same, Richie. Nobody in the clan could have imagined an Immortal. To them, I was a demon. But, yes, I was scared. Terrified. I believed in demons, too. But I didn't see how I could possible be a demon. I felt the same as I always had. I was banished; I was alone. But I didn't know enough to fear for my head." 

Richie let out a long, shaky breath. 

Duncan clapped Richie on the shoulder. "How about a drink? I think we both could use one." 

The next morning, Duncan came into the shop, a chagrined expression on his face. "Tessa wants to see you." 

"Does she know about yesterday? Never mind. Of course she knows." 

Richie entered the bedroom. Tessa immediately reached her arms out to him. Richie saw her wince. "Don't mind me," she said. "I'm fine. Come here. Are you all right." 

"Just a bruised ego. Tessa, I could hardly move. I was so scared." 

"Of course you were. And that's part of what I need to talk to you about. Mac's finally admitted he's neglected you far too long. He said he started to make amends last night. Is that true?" 

"Yes, we're cool." 

"Cool," she repeated. "I guess that's good." 

"Now," Tessa went on. " Duncan's driving me nuts with all this attention. He's making up for lost time, I think, but I can't stand him hovering over me day and night. I'll also never get any stronger if he's waiting on me hand and foot. I'm supposed to be getting my strength back, but it's all I can do to keep him from carrying me to the bathroom." 

"What can I do?" 

"First, I am going to insist that you and Duncan start whatever it is Immortals do after they become Immortal. Next, I am going to call Cecile and she's going to come back here and help out. Duncan's still too emotionally entangled to handle my rehab properly. You and Duncan will mind the shop and play with your swords during the day while Cecile stays with me. You can take over for Cecile at night." 

"But will he listen to you?" 

"What do you think?" 

Richie knew that look, that tone that brooked no nonsense. The Scot was doomed. He grinned in agreement. 

"Now, please hand me the phone. I need to let Cecile know that she's going to insist on coming to help out." She winked at Richie. "Do you think you can sneak me some ice cream?" 

"Tessa, it's barely ten in the morning. Are you sure you're even allowed to eat ice cream?" 

"I've got pages of instructions and restrictions, but I read the list very carefully, and there's absolutely nothing on it that says anything at all about ice cream." 

"It's double chocolate fudge." 

"Your doing, I'll bet." 

"Yes," he confessed. 

"Go. I'm sick of oatmeal." 

Richie picked Cecile up at the airport two days later. After a brief stop at the hotel to check in and drop off her bags, she breezed into the apartment, shooing Duncan out of the bedroom. "You can have her at night. During the day, she's mine to care for. Go sell antiques or something." 

Richie stifled a laugh. Duncan glared at him and said, "Tomorrow you start working out. Early. I'll wake you." 

*** 

"Get up, Richie. Time to run." 

"Mmmph. What time is it?" 

"Time to start training. We have time for a good five miles before the shop opens. Cecile is already here. Come on. Five minutes." 

Richie groaned and rolled out of bed. He staggered into the bathroom and wondered why Immortal training had to start so early in the morning. 

Shut up, stupid. Three days ago you were a wreck because Duncan was ignoring you. You can't have it both ways. He splashed some cold water on his face and went out to meet Duncan. 

"Tomorrow you're getting some decent running shoes," Duncan said, looking at Richie's worn sneakers. "Those will have to do for today. Let's go." 

Richie climbed into the passenger seat of the T-bird and closed his eyes as they drove to the park. After some warm up stretches, Duncan led the way along the path. Richie was soon red-faced and panting trying to keep up. "How far have we gone?" he huffed. 

"About a mile. We can pick up the pace now that we're warmed up." 

"Mac, you're killing me!" 

"Not a chance. Conditioning is vital. Sometimes winning can come down to who has the most endurance, not necessarily who is best with a sword." 

Richie stopped talking and started concentrating on breathing. Duncan showed no mercy; they ran the full five miles and then walked one more to cool down. Duncan talked to him, started answering some of the questions that had been plaguing Richie. Duncan admitted taking him in because he was pre-Immortal. 

"If I'd been mortal, I'd probably be in jail by now. If not for robbing your shop, for something else." 

"That would have been up to you, Richie. I don't know if I'd have had you released if you'd been mortal, but the lifestyle choices have always been yours." 

"So, instead of being a petty thief, I've become a killer? Is that it?" 

"You're one of us now," Duncan said quietly. "Your life will change. You'll have time to do so much, to see and learn so much. The price you pay is the Game. There will be times when you won't be sure it's worth it. I can only try to give you the skills you'll need to survive as long as possible. But you shouldn't think of yourself as a killer. You'll kill if and when you have to." 

"I've been thinking about that a lot lately. I'm not sure I know how to deal with it." 

"I'll do my best to make sure you have plenty of time to figure it out." 

"Thanks, Mac." 

Duncan led Richie through some more stretches before they got in the car. "Just because you heal quickly doesn't mean you can ignore taking proper care of your body." 

"Go shower," Duncan said when they were back at the apartment. "I'm going to check on Tessa. Meet me in the office when you're cleaned up." 

Richie was physically exhausted, but he felt in control for the first time since the shooting. He let the hot water pour over him, soothing his aching muscles. His thoughts turned to his future. He might be stuck with this new life, but at least he'd be learning from one of the good guys. He vowed not to let Mac down. 

Duncan was sitting at his desk polishing a wooden case when Richie entered. He stood up and crossed to the front of the desk and extended the box to Richie. "I want you to have this," he said. 

Richie opened the case and saw the Spanish rapier gleaming inside. He smiled at his friend.   
"Thanks," he said, his voice cracking. He set the box down and grasped the hilt. The touch of cold steel sent an electric quiver through his body. A sinking feeling quickly replaced his initial elation, and he withdrew his hand. 

This is it. You're going to have to learn to kill people now. 

He wiped his hands on his jeans. He raised his head slowly, meeting Duncan's solemn stare. 

"Take it," said Duncan. "Make it a part of you. There are times when it might be your only friend. We'll start training with it tomorrow." 

Richie nodded. He ran his fingers over the hilt and slowly removed the weapon from its nest. It felt awkward in his hand. He watched the light dance and shimmer as he tentatively moved the blade through the air. So beautiful. Yet so deadly. This would be his partner in the Game, the key to his new life. With Duncan's teaching and Tessa's support, he just might get through this. For a while, anyway. 

He returned the sword to its resting place and looked soberly at Duncan. "Why not today?" 

The End. 

Author's notes: 

Standard disclaimers: Duncan, Richie, Anne, and Tessa don't belong to me. I get no financial remuneration. Feedback is my only reward. Please let me hear from you. 

Thanks to Sandra McDonald for her nit-picking beta-reading. She can see the trees in the forest even when I've walked into them and still missed them. Thanks also to Randy Ferrance and Robin Tennenbaum for their medical help. Goodness knows they tried to make me get it right. Any remaining mistakes are my own.   



End file.
